The Pale Bonsai
The question had been hanging in the air of the village hall for three days, a heavy, unspoken thing that seemed to thicken the dust motes dancing in the shafts of afternoon light, and it was not until the fourth morning, when the fog had finally begun to lift from the valley floor and reveal the grey, skeletal trees of the orchard beyond the fence, that Thomas Bradshaw realized he was the one...
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